Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Clara pawed through the dusty trunk. Years of family history crammed inside: moth-eaten blankets, yellowed photographs, and a chipped porcelain doll with vacant eyes. Then, beneath a stack of old magazines, she found it. Her father’s familiar handwriting, a crisp “Resignation of Employment” letter addressed to some faceless corporation. The date was from before she was born. Her breath hitched.

She pulled the chair closer to the dim light filtering through the grime on the glass and settled to read, eyes darting from word to word as if anticipating an ambush. The carefully crafted sentences spoke of dissatisfaction, of a need for something more. The way the pen strokes ended abruptly made her stomach twist. What had he really been feeling? What secrets had he kept?

Clara kept looking over her shoulder, a prickle crawling up her spine. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves against the window, sounded like an intruder. She folded the letter with deliberate slowness, tucking it back into the trunk, then immediately slammed the lid shut.